


The Christmas Scarf

by BubbleGumLizard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mean John (just a little bit), Merry Christmas, Minor Character Death, Sweet Sherlock, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5499689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes sees John Watson, sexiest boy in the world, at a shop, unable to afford a silk scarf he wants to buy.  Knowing that something is wrong, Sherlock buys the scarf and goes after John to give it to him, changing everything.</p><p>Inspired by the song "The Christmas Shoes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> Stuck in traffic today I heard the song "The Christmas Shoes", which is the WORST Christmas song ever. Not only do I find it completely awful, but it makes me cry every time I hear it. Also, it's on every single time I'm in the car around Christmas. I really hate this song. Naturally, it made me think about what would happen if John were poor and his mother were dying and Sherlock saw him unable to buy something for her (not shoes though, because that's a weird thing to buy someone who's dying). So I came home and wrote this whole thing in two hours. 
> 
> I'm rather pleased with it, I hope you all like it too!
> 
> P.S. Here's a link to the song, because I hate HTML: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJcPVB-we7g

Sherlock wandered around the store, bored. He had no idea why his mother insisted he accompany her Christmas shopping. He never bought any gifts and he spent the entire day complaining, but she made him go with her every year. One more tedious tradition that was ending after this year, his last year at home before university and adulthood.

This was the best part of the day, when his mother went to do boring shopping for various female relatives at the cosmetics counter and he was permitted to look around on his own, ostensibly to find a present for Mycroft.

He found something to buy (for himself, obviously, not Mycroft) and was waiting in line when he realized that he was standing behind the sexiest boy he had ever seen, John Watson.

Sherlock had noticed John the year before and had immediately fallen head over heels in love with him. It was frustrating, because not only was John very clearly nowhere near ugly enough to date Sherlock, he was also incredibly straight. He strutted around school, dating all of the most attractive, popular girls, leaving poor saps like Sherlock pining desperately in secret.

No one knew how Sherlock felt, of course. Sherlock was the weird kid, the friendless oddity that people teased. Sherlock didn’t care about the teasing for the most part. In fact, the only time it bothered him was when John was around to see it. Sherlock wasn’t deluded, he knew that he could never date someone like John, but he still didn’t want the only thing John knew about Sherlock to be that no one liked him.

Now, standing in line, Sherlock looked down at the book in his hands, hoping that if John turned around he wouldn’t see Sherlock, which is what usually happened when people saw Sherlock outside of school. John never joined in on the teasing, so Sherlock wasn’t afraid that something like that would happen, he simply didn’t want to risk a negative interaction with John. It was nearly Christmas, after all: the season was terrible enough without adding in public humiliation.

The line moved forward and John moved up to the till. Sherlock looked up curiously, wondering what John Watson bought at a store like this. John set a woman’s silk scarf on the counter, along with a pile of bills from his pocket.

The girl counted out the bills, straightening them and favoring John with a look that Sherlock found rather condescending for the sexiest boy in the world. “There isn’t enough here,” she said in a snotty voice. Why a girl who slept with every man who would have her thought it appropriate to be so rude to such a paragon of virtue, Sherlock didn’t know, but he hardly understood why people acted the way they did.

John looked at the money in the girl’s hand and then cast a panicked glance back over his shoulder at the line behind him. His eyes when he saw Sherlock standing there, watching him. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, leaning forward slightly.

Something was wrong. John seemed much more upset than a scarf merited. When he had turned around, he had tears in his eyes, for some reason. “I’m sure. You’re short. Would you like it or not?” the girl asked, still being too nasty for Sherlock’s liking.

“Um, I guess not,” John mumbled and scooped up the bills before walking away, glancing at Sherlock again before being swallowed up by the crowd.

Sherlock stared. He wasn’t an expert on emotion, but when John looked back at him, he had looked utterly devastated. The person behind Sherlock tapped his shoulder and he realized that he had been staring after John when he should have stepped up to the counter.

Sherlock set the book on the counter, giving the girl his coldest look. “Is this is?” she asked.

Sherlock hesitated, looking at the wad of bills in his hand. He had enough for either the book or the scarf, but certainly not for both. “Actually, I’ll take that,” he said, pointing at the scarf behind the counter. “Instead of the book.”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, but swapped the scarf for the book on the counter, ringing up his sale without another word. He was glad she didn’t ask why; Sherlock wouldn’t have been able to say why he bought the scarf. It was probably for one of John’s girlfriends, who undoubtedly required expensive gifts for silly holidays like Christmas. Sherlock accepted the bag with the scarf in it and turned to see his mother watching him.

From the look on her face, she had seen the whole thing. “Friend of yours?” she asked with a small smile.

“Just a boy I know. I’m going to go give this to him,” Sherlock said, starting to walk in the direction John had gone.

His mother stopped him, pulling him into a tight hug, her eyes looking suspiciously moist. “You’re a good boy, Sherlock.”

“Yes, Mummy. Let me go before I lose him,” Sherlock said, straightening his shirt as he pulled away from her. He gave her his best scowl, but he couldn’t stop a warm feeling spreading in his chest. He pushed it away, telling himself it was foolish sentiment, and set off to find John.

After a few minutes, he found John sitting in a cafe, staring at a cup of tea. Steeling himself for the possibility of public ridicule, Sherlock sat down at the table with John and held the bag out to him.

“What’s this?” John asked, looking up at Sherlock’s face. He still had the look of sheer devastation on his face, a look that made Sherlock want to grab him and hold him until everything was okay.

“Your scarf,” Sherlock said.

“What?” John asked, reaching into the bag and pulling the scarf out. He stared at Sherlock, his mouth falling open in shock. “I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can. It’s Christmas,” Sherlock said, unsure why John would be refusing something that he wanted.

“Do you have any idea how expensive this is? We—we don’t even know each other!” John exclaimed, but Sherlock noticed that he was holding the scarf very tightly.

“I’m Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock said, attempting a friendly smile. “And you’re John Watson. Now we know each other.”

“I know your name, you lunatic!” John said.

Sherlock couldn’t help himself, he winced when John called him the name, as if he had been hit. He had been prepared for John to be unkind, most people were, but it still hurt. “Keep the scarf, John. Give it to your girlfriend or whatever, I don’t care.” He stood to go, but John’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” John said, looking panicked again. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock nodded. He hadn’t meant it, but he had said it. Sherlock might be bad at social interaction, but even he could see that for the load of bollocks it was. “It doesn’t matter,” he said in his most aloof voice.

“Really.” John stood, still holding Sherlock’s wrist. “Will you go for a walk with me?” he asked quietly.

Sherlock looked at John suspiciously. He had an earnest, pleading expression on his face that Sherlock didn’t dare deny. “Very well. But if you say something like that again, I’ll leave.”

John nodded. “I’m sorry, again. I really didn’t mean it that way.”

Sherlock was shocked as John slipped his hand into Sherlock’s, leading him out of the cafe. Focusing on breathing and not the warm, strong hand that had a tight hold on Sherlock’s skinny, elegant one, Sherlock stared at the ground. No one but his parents had ever held his hand before and he wasn’t sure how to react to it.

John led them to a park near the shopping center. It was empty, considering that it was dark and a bit chilly for a stroll. John walked them along a path, keeping Sherlock’s hand tightly in his own.

“The scarf isn’t for my girlfriend,” John said quietly after a few minutes. “I haven’t got a girlfriend. It’s for my mum.”

“That’s nice,” Sherlock said in the silence that followed, unsure of the socially appropriate response to something like that.

“I suppose you don’t pay attention to gossip at school.” John looked sideways at Sherlock, his eyes looking dark in the low light of the park.

“Why would I? I have no interest in cataloging the new and creative pejoratives our peers have invented for me.”

“I wish I could be like that. If I were, I wouldn’t hear the stories about my sister, Harry, getting drunk at all of the parties and making a fool of herself. I wouldn’t hear the hushed voices talking about how she does that because of my mum.”

“Why because of your mum?” Sherlock asked bluntly, realizing too late that he could have worded his question more tactfully.

John took a deep breath, clutching Sherlock’s hand tighter. “She’s quite ill. Dying, actually.”

Sherlock stopped walking, staring at John. They were still holding hands, so John stopped walking as well, looking back at Sherlock, the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. Sherlock didn’t know what to say. He was rubbish at sentiment at the best of times and this was nothing like the best of times. Talking to the boy he secretly loved, whose hand he was still holding, during their first actual conversation, he had absolutely no idea how to comfort this boy, who was obviously grieving.

“She’s going to die soon,” John told Sherlock, locking eyes with him. “Probably before Christmas.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, not knowing what to say. “I—” he started, but trailed off, still at a loss for words.

“What’s the first thing that comes to your mind to do or say?” John asked. Sherlock frowned at him, unsure of what exactly John was asking. “Say the first thing that comes into your mind. Don’t think about it, just do it.”

Without hesitation, Sherlock pulled John into a tight hug. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew that people liked to be hugged when they were upset and he wanted nothing more than to hug John until he felt better.

He heard a small gasp from John before John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, resting his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock looked down and saw that John’s eyes were closed and his face looked relaxed, finally. Sherlock just held him tighter, closing his eyes and enjoying a hug for the first time in his life.

Sherlock hated to be touched in general. John holding Sherlock’s hand had been the first time Sherlock could remember not wanting to immediately recoil from someone else’s touch, and this was a similar experience. Normally he spent every moment being hugged wishing that the person hugging him (usually his mother) would stop, but he didn’t want this to end.

John pulled away after a few minutes, smiling at Sherlock. “Thank you, that was nice.” He looked down at the scarf, which was still clutched in his hand. “This is for my mum. We’ve always been poor and she’s never had anything so nice. I thought that since she always gave up nice things for us kids, it would be nice if she just had one—” his voice broke and he put his free hand up to his face, covering his eyes.

Acting on instinct, Sherlock pulled John back into a hug. The first one had gone over really well, so he thought it might work again. He looked down again, wanting to see John’s face look relaxed again.

Instead, John was looking up at him, a strange look on his face. Sherlock stopped breathing as John reached up and put his hand behind Sherlock’s neck, craning his neck so he could kiss Sherlock on the lips. Sherlock started to relax into the kiss, feeling a warm sensation spreading throughout his body, when alarm bells went off in his head.

This was wrong. John was upset about his mother, that’s why he was kissing Sherlock. Sherlock pushed John away slightly, holding his shoulders tightly. He wanted more than anything to kiss John some more. He wanted it so badly that he was shaking as he stared at John, who looked confused and upset. It was a bad idea for John to use Sherlock to grieve, however, and Sherlock knew that.

“This is wrong,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Why?” John demanded, looking angry. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Everyone in school knows you have some silly crush on me. Pathetic is what they call you, and now I agree. I’m finally giving you what you want and you’re throwing it back in my face? Why?”

Sherlock was shaking so badly now that he could barely speak. All he wanted to do was go home and hide in his bed, where an angry, upset John Watson wasn’t shouting at him. He struggled to keep his voice calm, knowing that John was simply upset about his mother.

“You’re grieving, John. If you actually wanted this, that would be different. But you don’t want this, you just want comfort. I can’t do that for you. You should go, go give the scarf to your mother. I’m not worried about the cost of it, it’s worth it to make your mother happy right now.”

John stared at Sherlock for a moment and then turned, striding away, still holding the scarf.

Sherlock returned to his mother, not talking about what happened. He knew that she could tell something bad had happened, but he didn’t want to tell her, so he remained silent. She knew better than to pester him about it, so she left him alone and he locked himself in his room as soon as they were home.

The next day he didn’t want to go to school, dreading the probably public recounting of the events of the previous night by John, but his mother forced him to go, as it was the last day before the Christmas holiday. Luckily, though probably not for John, John and Harry Watson were both absent from school, rumors flying around about their mother’s failing health.

Sherlock wasn’t sure why he did it, but he stopped by a shop on the way home and picked up a Christmas card to send to John, writing the most emotional, personal thing he had ever written in it:

**John,**  
**I understand why you said the things you did. You’re hurting and I didn’t act the way you wanted me to. I’m sorry about that, but it would have been wrong.**  
**I’m very sorry about your mother’s illness and I hope you manage to have a merry Christmas.**  
**Best regards,**  
**SH**

He knew where the Watson house was, a ramshackle place near the shop, and he slipped the card through the mail slot, leaving quickly, before anyone could see him loitering around the house. He hoped that John would understand and not hate him. Sherlock was even more in love with John than he had been, wishing for forgiveness more than anything.

***

Sherlock spent the next two days in his bedroom, only leaving when his parents forced him. On Christmas morning he was forced to participate in family bonding time before escaping back to his room, where he was lying in bed, reading a book on entomology, one of his gifts.

There was a knock on his door and Sherlock ignored it, sure that it was his mother. When the person knocked again and then opened the door, Sherlock sat up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of his mind.

To his great shock, John Watson walked in, looking a bit hesitant. Sherlock set his book down and shifted so he was sitting with his back against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest. He wasn’t sure what John wanted, but he felt safer in his bed than out of it.

“Yes?” Sherlock asked sharply.

John shut the door behind him, glancing around the room. “May I sit?” he asked, pointing to the bed. When Sherlock nodded, he didn’t sit on the edge of the bed, like Sherlock expected, he climbed on the bed to sit next to Sherlock, so close that their upper arms were touching.

“Your room is nice,” John said, looking around some more. “Much nicer than mine. I like—”

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked, interrupting him. He wanted to know if he was in for more insults and he didn’t feel like waiting through pleasantries to find out. As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them, because John sagged at them and tears started falling quickly down his face.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” John huffed, trying to wipe his face quickly.

“Sh,” Sherlock said quietly, putting his arm around John’s shoulder and pulling him into a hug. “It’s okay, John. Whatever it is, it’s fine.”

“She—she’s gone,” John said burying his face in Sherlock’s shirt and shaking as sobs overtook him.

Sherlock rocked gently, not sure what to do. “I’m sorry, John,” he whispered.

After a few moments, during which Sherlock held John, silent but for the occasional “It’ll be okay,” John looked up at Sherlock. For a moment, Sherlock thought that John might kiss him again, because their faces were quite close to each other, but instead John pulled back slightly. Not far enough to pull out of Sherlock’s embrace, but enough that Sherlock could no longer feel John’s hot breath on his face.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’m sorry for everything I said. I don’t know why I said any of that, you didn’t deserve it and it’s not even true.” His words came out in a rush and he looked incredibly sad as he said them, like he was full of remorse.

“Didn’t you get my card?” Sherlock asked, frowning. “I understand.”

“I did get it,” John said, pulling the card out of his pocket. “Thank you for it, I really needed something like that. It made me smile.” He smiled now, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled back. He liked the idea that he could make John smile when he was upset. “I was in a terrible state when my grandmother died. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling now. I forgive you for what you said.”

“You’re so perfect,” John said breathlessly, staring at Sherlock.

“What?” Sherlock asked, startled by the sudden shift in conversation.

John turned bright red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It’s just, you’re being so wonderful. You know exactly what to do and say all the time. And the way you look…” he looked away. Sherlock frowned. He wasn’t sure why his unfortunate gangliness and odd facial features had anything to do with the conversation.

“Are you going to start teasing me now?” Sherlock asked quietly, bracing himself for the worst.

John looked surprised. “Tease you? Why would I do that?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Well, you mentioned the way I look.”

“Why would I tease you about that?” John looked confused again.

Sherlock hesitated. Was that some kind of trick question? Surely Sherlock’s physical features presented many possible subjects for teasing. At least, they always had before. “Well, I’m so ugly…”

“Ugly?” John asked, his eyes widening. “What makes you think you’re ugly?”

“The mirror, mostly,” Sherlock told him, suspecting that he was being set up for some nasty joke. He wasn’t sure why John would do something like that, after letting Sherlock hold him while he cried, but Sherlock assumed that was just another strange thing that he didn’t understand about people.

“Sherlock, you’re not ugly,” John told him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and John scowled at him. “Really. You’re the most attractive boy I’ve ever seen!”

“What?” Sherlock asked, caught off guard by this confession.

“Sherlock, I’ve been in love with you for two years,” John told him. His eyes moved quickly around Sherlock’s face, waiting for a reaction. When Sherlock just stared at him, John reached up and touched Sherlock’s cheek. “Sherlock? Did you hear me? I’ve been in love with you since the first time I noticed you, two years ago.”

“What?” Sherlock asked again, unable to think of anything else to say.

John sighed. “I noticed you two years ago for the first time around school. You know we’ve never been in any classes together, so we never interacted. But then, suddenly, I saw you everywhere. You’re just so gorgeous and you walk around school with that don’t-give-a-toss attitude, it’s just so sexy. I was going to ask you out, but then my mum got sick and Harry started drinking. I didn’t want to go out with you and ruin it with my problems…” he trailed off, watching Sherlock’s face carefully.

“But the things you said the other day. Why did you say that?” Sherlock asked, his brain going into overdrive to figure out if John was telling him the truth.

John blushed again. “I was embarrassed. I kissed you and it seemed like you were rejecting me. I was so upset about my mum, I just—well, I guess I lashed out. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you kiss me?” That was the last piece of the puzzle. When he had an answer to that, Sherlock might understand exactly what was happening. Might.

“Well, I wanted to. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long and then you were so sweet, with the scarf and then you held me. All I wanted was for you to hold me and you did just that. It was so perfect, I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Sherlock snapped, looking down at his lap. He was sure John was telling the truth, but none of it made sense. John was in love with him? John thought he was attractive? The whole situation was ridiculous.

“This is nonsense,” Sherlock said, shaking his head.

John touched Sherlock’s cheek again, making Sherlock look into his eyes. They were slightly moist and completely free of guile as he spoke, wrenching Sherlock’s heart in a way Sherlock didn’t know was possible. “It’s not nonsense, Sherlock. You are stunningly handsome and I am in awe every time I see you. The way you look, your attitude, your brilliance, I love all of it. I shouldn’t have kissed you the other night. I should have asked you out and kissed you properly.”

“Okay,” Sherlock said.

“Okay?” John echoed, sounding unsure.

“That. Do that.”

John smiled. “Sherlock, will you go on a date with me?”

Sherlock nodded. “Now you kiss me?” he asked.

“I meant ‘properly’ as in after a date,” John said, chuckling.

“This doesn’t count as a date?” Sherlock asked, looking down at his arm, which was still around John’s shoulders.

“I want to redo our first kiss the way first kisses should be. You know.”

“I don’t, actually,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “Only having had the one…”

“The one?” John asked, gasping as his eyes grew wide. “Sherlock, was that your first kiss?”

Sherlock felt heat rise to his cheeks and tried in vain to stop it. “Yes,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Oh, that won’t do,” John said quietly, sounding sad. “That won’t do at all. Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock looked up and John leaned forward and pressed their lips gently together, tilting his head just enough to the side so that their noses rested against each other. He trailed his hand up Sherlock’s arm, eventually cupping his jaw lightly.

When they broke apart several minutes later, Sherlock smiled at John, his face what he was sure was an alarming shade of pink. “That was nice,” Sherlock said quietly, unsure of the proper post-kiss etiquette.

John chuckled. “Everything about you is nice.” Sherlock looked away, embarrassed and John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, humming a soft, happy noise. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“For what?” Sherlock asked, wondering if he was being thanked for the kiss, which seemed odd.

“For being so wonderful. Life is pretty awful right now and the thought of going on a date with you is making it better.”

Sherlock looked at John’s face, studying it carefully. John clearly hadn’t slept in some time, spending the night crying rather than resting. He knew what to do for that. He tossed the book he had been reading onto the floor and pointed to the bed. “Lie down,” he commanded.

John gave a strange look but did as he was told, lying down, facing Sherlock. Sherlock lay down as well, pushing John around so that his back was to Sherlock. Sherlock shifted so that their bodies were slotted together perfectly and wrapped his arm around John’s chest, holding him tightly.

“Go to sleep, John,” Sherlock said quietly into his ear. “We can kiss more when you awaken.”

“Thank you,” John said with a sigh, relaxing into the embrace.

Before long, John’s breathing was slow and even with a telltale snore every so often. Sherlock smiled, burying his nose in John’s hair and closing his own eyes to go to sleep.


End file.
